I adore the struggle you carry in yourself. I adore your terrifying sincerity.
I find that life, day by day, is composed of at least one joy, one problem and one sorrow. Then there are the smaller ingredients: you always learn something, whether useful or harmful - that is difficult to analyze until later; you always give something; you alwayou always grow a little in one direction or another.
The child who is uprooted begins to recognize that what he builds within himself is what will endure, what will withstand shattering experiences.
No one should be forced to carry the unfulfilled self of another.
The suppression of inner patterns in favor of patterns created by society is dangerous to us.
The source of sexual power is curiosity, passion. You are watching its little flame die of asphyxiation. Sex does not thrive on monotony. Without feeling, inventions, moods, no surprises in bed. Sex must be mixed with tears, laughter, words, promises, scenes, jealousy, envy, all of the spices of fear, foreign travel, new faces, novels, stories, dreams, fantasies, music, dancing, opium, wine.
We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.
When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons. We cease to grow.
The secret of life was Breath. That was what I always wanted my words to do, to Breathe.
The obstacle became his alibi for weakness.
I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing.
Creation which cannot express itself becomes madness.
Stations and airports are rehearsals for separations by death.
Nowhere is inhumanity more revealed than in hospitals.
Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions.
One handles truths like dynamite.
Will you come down and kiss me good night?
The artist is the only one who knows that the world is a subjective creation, that there is a choice to be made, a selection of elements.
You are the only woman who ever answered the demands of my imagination.
Life is what we make it, always has been, always will be...including our perception. Of it
When you make a world tolerable for yourself, you make a world tolerable for others.
When others asked the truth of me, I was convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with.
I love your silences, they are like mine.
I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don’t mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated
That is my essential reason for writing, not for fame, not to be celebrated after death, but to heighten and create life all around me. I also write because when I am writing I reach the high moment of fusion sought by the mystics, the poets, the lovers, a sense of communion with the universe.
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